


It's Like a Piece of Me is Missing

by peraltiaghoe



Series: angsty boyz [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Death, F/M, Heavy Angst, Sad, Sad Jake, Therapy, happyish ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 21:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19798099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peraltiaghoe/pseuds/peraltiaghoe
Summary: "Or when we got stuck in a real-life Die Hard situation and Charles said ‘yippee kayak, other buckets’?That’straumatizing. That’s trauma. You want to talk about that? The last therapist I talked to, the one who, again, held me at gunpoint? I could go on. You want to talk? Let’s talk. I’ve got trauma for days."Jake goes to therapy.ATTENTION::::::: THIS: IS: SAD.THIS IS V SAD AND IF YOU DO NOT LIKE SAD, YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ THIS. IT IS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT THAT YOU KNOW THAT NOW.DEATH. Death follows, and sadness, and there is considerable fluff and a lot of canon references, but if you do not like sad and you do not like death and all that, this is probably not the fic for you.ALSO: SOME GRAPHIC VIOLENCE IS DEPICTED.





	It's Like a Piece of Me is Missing

**Author's Note:**

> I have warned you. Continue at your own risk. We gettin sad up in here. 
> 
> Title from All Time Low's Lullabies. 
> 
> _Forever's never seemed so long as when you're not around. It's like a piece of me is missing._

“So, why don’t you tell me about where it all began?” 

Jake could feel his face reacting before he even had so much as a chance at stopping it. “Where _what_ all began? You want like, the big bang? Dinosaurs and all that?” 

The doctor smiled patiently at him before looking down and scribbling something in his notebook. 

“What did you just write?” Jake asked, craning his neck forward to try and see the paper. It was no use. He could see, but the cursive writing, upside down from his angle was practically impossible to read. 

The doctor looked hesitantly at him, then smiled slightly. “I wrote the word ‘deflecting.’” 

“Deflecting?” 

“Mhm. You’re intentionally changing the course of the thought, of the conversation. In this case, by method of humor. I presume you know that I didn’t want to speak with you about the dinosaurs today.” 

Jake narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t _deflecting._ If anybody was deflecting, it was this therapist. Deflecting by method of being boring, that is. Stupid therapy. 

Jake huffed, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair. He couldn’t figure out what was more annoying: the way the man was looking at him or the fact that he couldn’t get his leg to stop nervously bouncing. 

After a long bout of tense silence, Jake finally spoke. “I don’t know. My dad, I guess.” 

“Ah, your father? What about him?” 

Jake shrugged. “He sucks, I guess.” 

“Care to elaborate?” 

“Not really.” 

The man raised his eyebrows. “Jacob, this isn’t going to be helpful to you in any way if you refuse to participate.” 

He audibly groaned, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. He was sure he looked like a four-year-old, but he didn’t have the energy to care. 

“You know, I talked about this with that other therapist. I kind of feel like I already had my big _breakthrough_ or whatever.”

The doctor, who Jake finally resolved to referring to by name, Dr. Walton, leaned back in his chair exaggeratedly. He was making a point of letting Jake know that he had no problem with sitting back, settling in for the long haul while Jake avoided sharing his thoughts and, or, probably most importantly, feelings. 

Walton sighed. “Look, Mr. Peralta,” Jake visibly winced at this, so Walton corrected himself. “Jacob, I get paid either way. If you want to sit here silently, that’s perfectly fine with me. But I think you made this appointment for a reason. And I’d like to explore that reason, if it’s okay with you.”

Jake stared at the painting above the man’s head. He recognized it. It was just a little print, but it was unmistakably Van Gogh. Cyclists…? Cyclopses? No. _Cypresses._

_Amy walked ahead of him, holding his hand as she rushed excitedly into the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He knew she would love this date, but he had no idea just how excited she would be._

_The entire day was perfect for him. They spent hours traipsing the halls, looking at each piece of art. Sometimes they joked about pieces. He’d posed in the same way as a series of sculptures, her laughter bubbling through the empty halls and echoing throughout. It was a sound he could listen to forever._

_”Shut up,” she’d said softly, but he could see the blush staining her cheeks as she said it. They were standing in front of a huge painting. Cypresses, by Van Gogh. “It’s so beautiful, don’t you think?” She had asked the question so innocently, her voice full of admiration like that old painting was really the most beautiful thing in the room._

_”What, you mean that painting?”_

_She turned to look at him, confusion clear across her features. “Yes, I mean that original Van Gogh painting, Jake.”_

_She turned back to look at it, full of adoration. He could tell that he was looking at her the same way._

_”Eh. It’s okay. It’s only the second-best work of art in the room, though.”_

_When she’d caught him looking at her in that way, she’d smacked his shoulder lightly and mumbled that cute ‘shut up’ at him._

_”What?! I was talking about that painting over there!” He laughed as she shook her head. “Jeez, Ames. Full of yourself, much?”_

He softened at the memory. Walton was right. He’d talked about this with Amy. Therapy was going to be good for him. He needed to get all of this out, to let himself heal. 

After one final, exaggerated sigh, Jake began. “So, yeah. My dad.” 

_Things were okay. Things were never exactly great. They didn’t have, like, one of those families that you’d see on a commercial or anything. They didn’t always sit down to eat dinner together, but they were all there. All together in that little house._

_His earliest memories always involved his dad. Mom would be at work, Dad would be walking him around the block. He’d pick up roly polies with him, carry him on his shoulders. It was like he could see the whole world up there, from up on top of his dad’s shoulders._

_He’d take him out to play in the snow during those freezing Brooklyn winters. He’d built his first snowman with his father. One year, they’d tried to build an igloo together. They formed all the blocks and almost got half way done when Jake’s gloves were saturated with melted snow, his little fingers practically ready to fall off. His dad had scooped him up, football style, and ran inside, stripping the wet gloves and snow pants off of his son, his little guy, and plopping him in front of the radiator with a blanket. Jake shivered there, holding his hands up toward the heat like his dad had taught him. Soon, Roger had made his way to sit next to his son, a cup of hot chocolate for each of them in his hands._

_They joked about how cool their igloo would be when they finished it the next day. When Karen had tried to make Jake eat all of his broccoli, he’d grumbled that they would **never** eat broccoli in their igloo house. Roger laughed with his son, convincing Karen to let Jake skip the broccoli for one night._

_The next day, the snow had melted. Their igloo was gone, much to Jake’s disappointment. Roger held him as he cried, his little five-year-old heart broken. That was **their** space. It wasn’t fair._

_”It’s okay, little guy. We’ll try again the next time it snows.”_

_It didn’t snow any more that year._

_And the next year, six-year-old Jake was ready to build a whole igloo. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to him, things between his parents had already begun falling apart by that time. You see, six-year-old Jake didn’t understand what was going on. He didn’t realize his mistake when he’d pointed something out, loudly in front of his mother one day._

_Roger had Jake on his back, racing around the house with him._

_”Slow down, Roger!” Karen had yelled, laughing through her words._

_But from where Jake was seated, laughing in elation on Roger’s back, he could see something he hadn’t noticed earlier._

_”Dad, stop! There’s something…” Jake trailed off as his dad stopped running. He craned his head up further, looking around the broad curve of Roger’s shoulder. He poked at his neck, then looked at his finger. “Oh…” Jake looked at his finger, still confused. “I thought you were bleeding, but I think it’s Mama’s lipstick.”_

_Jake knew it didn’t happen like this. He was sure that he didn’t even understand the implications of the situation as it was happening. But the way he remembered it was that Karen walked into the room, and everyone froze. It felt like hours, his parents stared at each other, Jake dangling from his father’s neck, quietly observing the tense situation._

_When his dad finally lowered him to the floor, he told him to go play in his room until dinner. Jake was confused about why their game had ended, but he did as he was told. He had always been a good kid._

_He couldn’t help it, though. When he heard their hushed voices, volleying back and forth at one another in the kitchen, he found himself with his ear pressed against his door._

_”Roger, how could you do that? How could you… I can’t even say it.”_

_”It’s not what it looks like, just let me-”_

_”Let you **what?** Let you explain? There’s nothing to explain. There’s lipstick on your **neck** and it’s not mine. It sure as hell isn’t Jake’s, is it?”_

_That was the first time Jake can really remember his parents fighting. Their voices rose quickly, and soon Jake found himself hiding under his bed instead of pressed to the door. He didn’t want to hear anymore, but he couldn’t escape the sounds._

_The next winter, his dad wasn’t around at all. They never built an igloo._

“So, there was the time he drove drunk with me in the car. That was a pretty big one, I guess.” 

“How old were you when that happened?” 

Jake genuinely thought about his answer. “I’m not sure. Probably about nine. Old enough to remember. Old enough to have nightmares.” 

“Did your mother know about that?”

Jake nodded. He was suddenly feeling almost exactly the same way he had felt when he told his mom about it. At age nine, two years after his father had left them, he had grown up way faster than all the other kids in his class. He knew exactly what had caused his father to act the way he was acting (whiskey). He knew exactly what it was like to have to make yourself dinner when you couldn’t even operate the oven by yourself (bologna again?). And he knew exactly what it was like to wake up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat because you were having that dream where your dad tells you to “just keep your fucking mouth shut, Jack” (and he was sure he meant Jake, it was just the alcohol slurring his words) before he turns back around and immediately wraps his car around a tree. He knew exactly how it felt to wake up that way alone, with no parent there to help him feel better (really fucking shitty, that’s how).

His voice was weak when he spoke. “Yeah, I told her.” 

“And then what happened?” 

“And then I saw my dad even less. He stopped coming to birthdays, stopped calling every so often. One day I realized that it had been over a year since I’d even heard from him. Then a few years later, I realized that I hadn’t heard from him since that first realization. Then he’d show up, my sixteenth birthday party, for example. Get this, brought his new girlfriend to the party. He tried to give me a six-pack of coronas as gift, but then ended up taking it with him when he left.” Jake chuckled humorlessly, staring off into the corner of the room. 

“And, you know. In that time, they tried to make me go to therapy, my therapist was a fucking nut,” Jake paused, eyeing Walton carefully, “no offense, I mean…” He watched as Walton nodded, showing his palms in a ‘none taken’ gesture. “That basically resulted in my parents getting into all their shit and ultimately getting divorced. So, that wasn’t great. Hence my lifelong hatred for therapy. And also corona.” Jake cracked a smile now, thrilled that he could point out just how gross corona was, even in a serious moment like this. 

Walton looked down again, jotting something in his notebook. 

“No. What was that?” 

Walton pursed his lips. “Deflecting.” 

Jake rolled his eyes. “Wow, and I thought we were getting somewhere, here.” 

“I just have to make a note of it, for my record.” 

Jake rolled his eyes. “Alright, what’s next on the agenda, then.” 

“Well, that’s up to you. What came next?” 

Jake tapped his foot in irritation. “Look, I don’t know. I thought you were supposed to tell me what to do. I’m just supposed to do your job for you?” 

“I can’t talk about what I don’t know about, Jake- Can I call you Jake?” 

Jake shrugged his shoulders, then quickly nodded.

“So why don’t you just tell me about some of the bigger moments? They can be positive and negative.” 

_Positives._

_”Hello, sir! How are you today? I’m Detective Right All the Time and this is my partner, Detective Terrible Detective.”_

_”Oh, and there is one more rule. No matter what happens, you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”_

_Amy’s smug look, her head tipping as she nodded back at him. “Won’t be a problem._

_Her stupid face as she threw a handful of peanuts into the air, catching approximately 2% of them in her mouth. Her adorable face as she smiled proudly at him for that 2%._

_”And if you ask me, I think she liked you back.”_

_”Did you?”_

_Amy’s voice, soft, unsure. “Maybe. I don’t know… Yes.”_

_”We are police colleagues!”_

_”This is a work event!”_

_Both flustered, and he couldn’t speak for her, but for him, wanting much more than what the case had led them to that night._

_Their first real kiss, in the evidence room, stillness in a moment of chaos. The speech he’d made for her at the funeral for a death that they definitely **weren’t** responsible for. The way she’d looked at him the first time she told him that she loved him. The same look never once fading from her eyes even when responded with, “Noice. Smort.”_

_”You see, Jake, I’m always going to be one step ahead of you. You’ve lost the ability to surprise me. Ya just. Plain. Boring._

_”Again, a weird take on a very loving relationship.”_

_”Although, you might want to read the inscription on that there belt.”_

_”Why? Oh no, what does it say? ‘Amy Santiago, will you marry- me?’”_

_”Surprise.”_

_Her face. Her voice. Her. As she listened to him describing all of the reasons he wanted to marry her, all of the reasons he loved her. The way she said yes, so sure of herself, so sure of them._

_”But I do have some bad news. There is a bomb at this wedding, as well. Your butt. Your butt is the bomb. There will be no survivors.”_

_He couldn’t stop his eyes from welling up with tears. “I love you so much, you’re my dream girl.”_

_”Ames, you know, I’ve been thinking… Maybe we should talk more about having kids.”_

_That gorgeous smile flashing across her face was enough to let him know that he was making the right choice._

_”Besides, if we start trying now, that’ll give me time to start perfecting my dad jokes.”_

_She leaned in and pressed a slow, soft kiss against his lips. “Why would you bring this up right before I have to leave for work? I’m going to be thinking about this all day.” She smiled again, leaning against him as he kissed her cheek. “I’ll call you later.”_

_Without missing a beat. “Don’t call me Later. Call me Dad.” He was laughing hysterically, even more so at the unamused expression on her face. “What, Ames! You set it up perfectly!”_

He could go on and on with positives. But he’d save that for when he was done with all of the negatives. 

“Well, there was the time my ex-girlfriend’s old boss abducted me and held me at gunpoint, forcing me to read my own suicide note on camera.” 

“Fascinating. Tell me more.” 

Jake shrugged. “Not much to tell. It was a little scary, I guess. But I had a feeling Amy would find me. And Rosa.” 

“He abducted you and Rosa?” 

Jake laughed and shook his head. “No, he abducted me. Amy and Rosa found me.”

“And Amy is your wife?” 

Jake nodded without a beat. “Yes, she is.” 

Walton stared at him for a moment, seemingly scrutinizing him. 

“And that was just that? You didn’t have any trouble after this event?” 

“Huh? No, I don’t think so. I felt pretty much fine. Joked about it a few times, yaknow. What’s that thing you said? Dissecting?” 

“Deflecting.”

“There it is.” 

Walton waited, so Jake took the bait and came up with another story. 

“Once Amy shot me.”

“Your wife shot you?” 

“Well, yeah, but it was a little bit more complicated than that.” Walton raised an eyebrow. “Captain Holt and I were in the witness protection program in _Florida_.” Jake stopped to gag in a dramatic fashion. “And Figgis had found us, so you know, the squad came down to help us. Amy, of course, was part of the squad…”

“Did she mistake you for Figgis?”

“Well, I did have frosted tips, so…” Jake held up his hand. “Deflecting, I know. Figgis had me. Gun to my head, again. Seems like I find myself in that position a lot, huh?” He laughed humorlessly for what felt like the hundredth time. “So I told her to shoot me. Throw Figgis off a bit.” 

“Did it work?”

“Yeah, he threw me on the ground.”

Walton was leaning forward in his seat, now. “This should be an action movie.” 

“If you say my life sounds like Die Hard, I will die on the spot, so choose your words carefully.” 

Walton laughed. “It’s a wild story, that’s for sure.” 

“Yeah, so it was pretty okay. Actually, funny story, I almost died because I accidentally told them the wrong blood type and my body rejected the blood from the transfusion. That was fun.” 

Walton shook his head. “So you got shot by your wife, and you’re telling me that you don’t think that had any serious effect on you? You just said things were ‘pretty okay.’” 

Jake looked at the ground, now. This was the part he had never talked about, not even to Amy. “Yeah. Getting shot was nothing. I hadn’t seen Amy in months. _Months._ I couldn’t hear her voice, I couldn’t tell her I loved her. And then the first time we saw each other again, things were so _awkward_. It was so uncomfortable. I never thought I would feel uncomfortable with her. That was probably the most afraid I had ever been, up to that point in my life. Sure, having a gun pointed at your head is a little scary. But Amy Santiago was standing across from me, gun pointed right at the guy who was holding me at gunpoint. She’s a badass. And she had my back. There was nothing to be afraid of. Especially not when I was already faced with the fear of how hard it might be falling back into rhythm with her.”

“You really loved her, huh?” 

“I love her so much,” Jake replied, eyes fixed on the wall. 

“Why don’t you tell me about the day?” 

Jake swallowed, hard. Somehow, he had never been so ready to talk in his life. 

“I could tell you about the time I went to prison for a crime I didn’t commit. I joined a gang and did meth, cause, ya know, I didn’t wanna be anyone’s bitch…” 

Walton looked at him, opening his mouth to speak, but Jake was talking again before he had the chance. 

“The time I was tied to a chair and I thought maybe I would die with Scully and Hitchcock? Or when we got stuck in a real-life Die Hard situation and Charles said ‘yippee kayak, other buckets’? _That’s_ traumatizing. That’s trauma. You want to talk about that? The last therapist I talked to, the one who, again, held me at gunpoint? I could go on. You want to talk? Let’s talk. I’ve got trauma for days.” 

He was rambling now, his words coming faster than his breath. He was looking anywhere but at the therapist. He could feel his breath getting stuck in his throat, each one falling more shallow than the last until he felt like he couldn’t even take in any air at all. 

Nothing had happened, nothing was moving, but he suddenly felt like the walls were closing in. It was like that old Batman movie, the walls were physically moving toward him and all he could do was wait to be crushed. He’s gripping at the band around his neck, squeezing it in his hand enough that it’s cutting into his palm. It hurts, but he won’t stop. 

Walton sat quietly, watching Jake. After a few moments, he seemed to calm down slightly, so Walton began again. 

“Jacob, can you tell me about the day that Amy died?” 

And of course he knew that everything he had said to this man was leading to this question. He knew because he called him a week earlier, had scheduled the appointment and specifically said the words, “I think I need to start going to therapy because my wife and coworkers have mentioned that I have been through kind of a lot of traumatic events in my life oh and also by the way my wife is recently dead.” 

So he knew that that was going to be a main topic of conversation. He didn’t know why Walton hadn’t brought it up prior to this moment. He noticed when he said he really _loved_ her, instead of he really _loves_ her. He made sure to say it in present tense when he responded. He still loves Amy Santiago. He will love Amy Santiago with all of his heart, every single day for the rest of his life. 

And then he was crying. Because of course he was crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone a full day without crying. Actually, he knew exactly when that day was. April 13th. The day before it happened. 

That was almost two months ago now. 

Jake hadn’t been back to work, though he’d tried a handful of times. The first time, against the wishes of every single person in his life, was one week after her funeral. He knew it was too soon, but he needed a distraction. He stood in the lobby, staring at the elevator, a lump in his throat. How many times had he been in that elevator with her? Hundreds. How many times had he been in that elevator, anticipating the sight of Amy waiting at her desk across from him? Thousands. 

When he couldn’t fathom the thought of stepping into the elevator without her, he opted for the stairs. But as soon as he stepped into the bullpen, he realized his mistake. He never should have come there. He looked on at his desk, a photo of them proudly displayed, overlooking the place where her old desk sat. It hadn’t been her desk for a few years, but he would always call it her desk. That’s all it took. An empty fucking desk that hadn’t belonged to her in years. That’s how he ended up in Holt’s office, on the sofa across from his desk. 

Holt was sat next to him, a hand on his back as Jake let out sob after broken sob. Once he finally calmed down a bit, Holt addressed him. “You know,” his voice broke already, before he even fully got started, “that I love the both of you so much. I will be here for you at any time, no matter what you need, Peralta. Please do not hesitate to ask if you need anything.” 

Holt shook his head, wiping a stray tear off of his cheek. “You were my two best detectives from the very beginning. It never should have happened like this.” 

Jake sniffled. “I should have gone first. I never should have let her go out there, Captain.” 

“It’s my fault as much as it is yours. She wasn’t even supposed to be there, but she begged to go. She wanted to be there for the squad. I gave her permission.” 

“I was right there. She took position to head out first and _I_ let her.” He was raising his voice now. “It should have been me.” He paused, his voice being consumed by another sob. “Captain, it should’ve been me.”

The second time he came in, he made it 25 minutes before he couldn’t tolerate the eyes that he felt on him at all moments. He stood up, set on leaving the building. That’s why he was so confused when he found himself stepping onto a different floor, _her_ floor. Every set of eyes in the room flicked to him immediately, full of sorrow. A young woman across the room dipped her head down, trying to hide the tears that already began flowing. 

It was Rosa who found him there. 

“Out. Everyone out.” 

“Of the floor?” A man asked quietly. 

“Out,” Rosa commanded. 

The entire floor was cleared in seconds. 

Rosa walked over to him, quietly taking in his stance, his fingers brushing against the edge of Amy’s desk. 

“You want some time alone here?” She asked suddenly. “I can make sure nobody enters the floor.” 

He didn’t look at her, didn’t say anything. After a moment, she started to walk away. His voice was so weak he wondered if she would even hear him. 

“Please don’t leave.” 

He still didn’t look at her, but he could hear her sniffling as she approached again. She reached out, touching the edge of the desk, too. They stood that way for a few minutes, crying silently next to each other, touching her desk as if it would somehow bring her back to them. 

“I come down here every day,” Rosa’s voice was softer than usual, affected by the tears she couldn’t stop from falling. “You know, just to make sure they haven’t touched anything.” 

“I have to go through it,” he replied, gesturing to the desk. “I haven’t been able to-” His voice broke as he cried. He found himself leaning into her chair, holding his head up on her desk. This is the closest he had felt to her since he had last held her. 

Rosa’s hand pressed comfortingly on his shoulder. Her voice was more stable, this time. “Tell me what you need.” 

Jake turned to look at her for the first time since she had walked into the room. Her face was in a similar state to his. Red, puffy, and tear-streaked, though she also had streaks of mascara under her eyes. 

“Will you stay with me? I don’t know, talk to me? I don’t want to do this alone.” 

She pulled the chair from the desk next to Amy’s over, sitting next to Jake. He maintained eye contact with her a moment. 

“Do you think I’m going to get through this, Rosa?” 

She looked back at him, an expression that he couldn’t read on her face. “I know you will.” He looked down at the floor, nodding lightly in agreement. “One thousand pushups,” she added. 

“One thousand pushups,” he repeated. 

He reluctantly opened her top drawer. The first thing that they collectively noticed was a Taylor Swift CD. 

“Hey!” Jake yelled. “She told me I lost this!” 

Rosa laughed. “Do you think she was hiding it from you or that she stole it for herself?” 

Jake scoffed. “Obviously she stole it for herself. _Everyone_ loves Taylor Swift.” 

“Yeah, okay, Jake.” They were both laughing as he shuffled through Amy’s things. For the most part, it was full of binder tabs, a stack of receipts for her coffee that she religiously got on the way to work, and other little office supplies. 

Rosa made a sound in the back of her throat. “This drawer is so _Amy_.” Her voice was softer, now. “I miss her.” 

Jake closed the top drawer and turned to look at his friend. “I miss her so much, Rosa. I don’t even know what to do.” 

They shared a look before he moved on to the second drawer. Most of her desk was full of things that you’d expect to find in Amy’s desk. It was in the final drawer, the one on the bottom right-hand side, when he found something he’d never expected to find. 

Rosa was sitting in her chair still, Jake kneeling over the drawer. There was laughter in her voice. “Hey, you remember that time she was drunk and she told Holt she could out-Captain him any day? And then she-” She stopped when Jake gasped. “What? What is it?” 

He sat, unmoving, staring at what he had in his hand. In the bottom corner of the desk, covered by a stack of blank paper, sat a positive pregnancy test. Next to it was a little list that read “How to tell Jake: ~~wrap the test in a box for him to open~~ ~~schedule a random heist?~~ New recruit coming January 2020.”

“Jake?” 

He turned toward her, closing the drawer in the same movement. With the little stick in his hand, he leaned back against the drawers and stared at it. 

Rosa stammered. “Jake- is that- I’m- oh my _god_.” 

She moved out of her chair, sitting next to him and leaning against the same drawers. She was silent, unsure of what to do, but trying to be there for her friend. She could feel tears pricking in her own eyes, but Jake was already entirely sobbing next to her. 

“You know we’re all here, right?” She asked after a few minutes of sitting quietly with her hand on his back. He was leaned forward now, still staring at the test in his hands. “You’re not going through this alone.” 

Jake sniffled and turned toward her. “I know.” 

He leaned back against the drawers, then leaned his head on Rosa’s shoulder. She leaned her head against his and they sat that way for a long time, silent save for a broken breath or a sniffle every few minutes. 

Walton looked at him seriously. “Do you always talk about her like she’s still here?” 

Jake ignored the question, loosening his grip on Amy’s wedding ring, which he now wore on a chain around his neck. 

“You might know something about this,” Jake trailed off. Deflecting, he knew. He didn’t care. “Amy used to talk about this thing, the Heinz Dilemma.” 

“Ah, yes, your wife is on her deathbed, do you steal the very expensive medicine that will save her life even though stealing is against the law?” 

“Yeah.” Jake laughed, the same way he had been laughing since he got there. “You know, I always used to think things were so black-and-white, especially when it came to this. Ames is the one who would always come up with more scenarios, scenarios that changed things, that made you want to choose a different path. But you know, we’re cops. There are morals and there are laws, and even as a cop I can say that sometimes those things need to be challenged. In that situation, you steal the medicine. Easy. The value of a life is worth more than the value of the medicine. That’s just how it is. Black and white.” 

Walton nodded, waiting. 

“But it’s the other scenarios that I had more trouble with. Like, the one with the train tracks?”

“The trolley problem.”

“Yeah. The train is coming at five people who are tied to the tracks, do you redirect the train to a new track where only one person is going to die? Or do you choose not to react, to allow those five people to die so that you don’t have to be directly at fault for that one person’s death?”

“The question is about ethics, Jake. Is it more ethical to let the train kill five people, or is it more ethical to switch the track and save those five people, killing one person instead.” 

“Fuck ethics. Fuck morals, fuck all of it. Because I always thought a life was a life. I always struggled with that question. It’s hypothetical, it didn’t matter anyway. And Amy would come up with other scenarios. ‘Okay, what if Hitler was one of the five people? Or Hans Gruber? Do you switch it then? What if the one person was holding the cure to cancer? They would save countless people with that cure.’” He was breathing heavily, trying his hardest not to break into tears again. Walton just watched him. 

“But you know what? If that train was coming toward a track with one hundred people on it, but the one person on the other track was Amy? I wouldn’t switch it. I would choose Amy every time. She shouldn’t-” He took a deep breath, trying to control himself. “She should still be here. It should have been anyone but her.” 

He was quiet for a moment. He moved to write something, but then withdrew, focusing back on Jake. Jake was silent, watching Walton’s movements in his peripheral vision as he stared blankly at the print of Cypresses above his head. 

“Have you ever talked about that day?” 

Jake’s eyes slowly made their way to Walton’s face. He hadn’t really looked at the man. He was old, wrinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes, especially when he narrowed them in thought at Jake. His hair was thinning, but there was still a hint of brown to the short, gray that covered his head. He wore glasses with thick black frames. 

“No.”

“Okay, Jacob. There are five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I know it’s going to be very hard, but I’d like for you to try to tell me about what happened that day. And while you’re talking, I’m going to make notes. They’re nothing important, and I’ll tell you all about them after, so no need to worry.” 

Jake nodded, but then looked down toward the floor. He didn’t want to. Didn’t even know if he _could_. 

With a deep sigh, he began reflecting on the worst day of his life. 

_”He’s outside, he’s outside. It’s a dead-end, he’s in the alley. There’s a fence, but it’ll take him a minute to climb it,” Charles was talking quickly, coming through a speaker. He was watching from the third floor of the building next door. “He hasn’t tried to climb it, yet. He’s looking at it, though.”_

_”Okay,” Rosa began, “and we know he’s armed-”_

_”We have to go out there,” Amy interrupted. “He’s going to get away. You know how big this case is, we don’t have time to sort all this out.”_

_”We can’t just rush out there, Ames,” Jake replied. “She’s right, he’s armed.”_

_”Yeah, and so are we. Do you think Holt’s going to like it if he finds out that we were **this** close and we let him get away because we couldn’t decide on the best way to proceed?”_

_”Do you think Holt’s going to like it if he has to go to a funeral for someone on his squad?” Rosa’s response was fast, laced with acidity. “We’re not going to do something stupid because we didn’t want him to get away. This is my case and-”_

_”Don’t make me pull rank, Rosa.”_

_Jake grabbed her shoulder. “Ames, c’mon. I know this case has been hard on you-”_

_She shrugged him off. ”If we let him get away, he’s just going to find another woman. We messed up his routine. Who knows what he’ll do if he gets away. He’s dangerous, Jake. This is just like the trolley problem. I don’t want to set the train on a different track. I want to stop the train.”_

_”Stopping the train isn’t always an option,” he answered, ignoring the confused look he was getting from Rosa._

_“And how much help do you think we’ll be if we run out there unprepared and he injures us?” Rosa snapped._

_Suddenly, Charles was back on the radio. “Alright, guys. He’s on his way up the fence. If you’re going to make your move, now is the time.”_

_From there, things moved so fast. Amy was at the door, ready to go. “Okay, follow my lead,” she commanded. Everyone lined up behind her, Jake taking the first place behind his wife. “Three, two-” And with that, the door was open, they were pushing outside. As soon as they were out, there was a clamor. People shouting from the opposite direction of the perp. Amy was facing the man on the fence, gun trained on him. “NYPD, freeze!”_

_”Amy!” Rosa’s voice came frantically. Jake turned toward the sound, things were just happening so fast. “Drop your weapon!” Shots, multiple shots. Some from Jake’s gun, some from Rosa’s, some from the man aiming his gun at Amy. He was hidden on the opposite side, behind a different fence where Charles had been unable to see him from the window._

_The man fell back, clutching at his chest as he hit the ground, but no one was looking at him. Because across the alley, Amy already lay on the ground, blood pooling fast around her. Blood. Blood spatter, everywhere. Hers and that man’s, the alley full of blood. Blood, rushing through Jake’s ears. He couldn’t ear anything, couldn’t hear the way he was screaming, couldn’t hear Rosa’s frantic shouts into the radio. “Officer down, officer down. We have an officer down, it’s- It’s really bad, we- Send help.”_

_He was at her side, holding her, cradling her, but she was already gone. Her blood was staining him, covering his shaking hands, matting her hair to her head. But she wasn’t dead, she couldn’t be dead, even if that’s what every sign pointed to, there was no way that Amy Santiago, the love of his life, was dead in his arms. That wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. That wasn’t how their lives were supposed to go._

_”No, no no no no no no no no no no no no no, no no no, no. No no no no.” His words were quiet now, falling against her skin as he pulled her against him. “No. No. No.”_

_”Jake,” Rosa placed a hand on his shoulder._

_**”No,”** he shouted, wrapping his arms around Amy tighter, defensively._

_Then Holt was there, crouched on the ground next to him. “Peralta, is she-”_

_”No,” Jake responded immediately, cutting him off before he could respond. She wasn’t breathing. She had no pulse. She had no signs of life in her. She had significantly less blood in her than she had only moments earlier. No. Whatever the question was, no. He held her against him, his body shaking more with every sob that erupted from his chest._

_It felt like hours had passed, but it had probably only been minutes before the ambulance had arrived, before the paramedics were trying to rip her out of his arms. They pronounced her dead at the scene, allowing him to pull her back against him, to whisper her name against her face as he repeatedly pressed kisses against her cheek, her forehead, her nose. Tears blurred his vision, ran across her skin, salty taste staining his lips as he kissed them away. She felt so cold, and not cold in the way that Amy always was, but eerily cold. Ice cold. Dead cold. He was going to be sick. He felt sick._

_Holt and Rosa sat with him, silently crying at the mess of a scene surrounding them. Terry had left with the perp that they had originally been chasing, the man who shot Amy on his way to the hospital via ambulance with Charles in tow, making sure that no more trouble was caused there._

_This was not proper protocol, but no one dared to mention that, to pull her away from him for a second time. But he knew that this moment had to end, that he had to let her go, that he had to stand up and walk away from this, something that Amy would never be able to do._

_”What happens now?” He asked quietly. He knew what happened. He’d been a detective for practically forever. He’d seen countless bodies at countless crime scenes and visited them in the morgue a short while later countless times. But he’d never had to look at it from this angle before. He never had to think about it as a grieving husband, which he now was._

_”Well,” Holt replied quietly, voice rough from crying, “it depends on what your plans are for a service. We have the bodycam footage, so we won’t need to put either of you through more for evidence. If you plan to do a funeral, we can call around and find the best place, then she can head straight there.”_

_Normally Rosa would make him wear a seatbelt, but he was laying in the back of her car, tears still steadily falling. He didn’t understand how he could still be crying, but every thought seemed to bring more tears with it._

_They were supposed to grow old together. They were supposed to start a family. He was supposed to hold her hand as they heard their baby’s first cry. They had been **trying** She was supposed to become a captain. She would have been great at it. They were supposed to celebrate their fifth anniversary, their twenty-fifth anniversary, their fiftieth. They were supposed to joke and laugh and fight and kiss and live. They were supposed to **live**._

_But now she was not._

_And the last thing he had said to her was, “Stopping the train isn’t always an option.” It wasn’t “I love you,” or “Thank you for everything” or “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.” It wasn’t any of the things he was thinking or feeling or that he thought he would have time to tell her. It was that stopping the fucking train wasn’t always an option. Which clearly, was true. Because if stopping the train had been an option, Amy would still be alive._

“So, yeah. It was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. It’s something that I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life. If I had gone out first, maybe she would still be here. If I had looked to my right instead of keeping my eyes on where Ames was. If I had reacted more quickly, if I had done anything differently. Maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here with you right now.”

Walton smiled sadly. “It sounds to me like you’re in the bargaining phase. You’re trying to reconcile with your loss by thinking about all of the things you could have done differently.” 

“Really? I figured I was in the anger phase. I think I’ve mostly made it out of denial, but I’m pissed. I’ll probably always be pissed. I’m pissed that it was her, I’m pissed that she was so set on running out there, I’m pissed that the guy who shot her is alive when she doesn’t get to be. I’m pissed that she was pregnant and she hadn’t told me yet. I’m pissed that she wasn’t taking things a little easier, even if she was only weeks pregnant. I’m pissed at myself for being pissed at her. And I’m sad. I’m so fucking sad. That’s another phase, right? Depression. I probably have that, I am that, whatever.” 

Walton smiled in that same stupid, sad way he had been doing. “The stages aren’t always linear, Jake. Sometimes you experience more than one of these stages at the same time. Some people skip stages altogether. It’s just a general idea for us to explore grief a little more closely and explain some of the feelings and behaviors that we experience during these times.” 

“Everything’s always so quiet, now.” He said the words slowly. This was somehow panning out to be the most painful thing he had said. “I come home and it’s just silent. People ask me how everything is, and I always say ‘fine,’ but I just want to say ‘it’s quiet.’ I don’t hear the shower running when I walk in the door, or Amy humming the song that’s been stuck in her head for two days.”

“Have you thought about getting a dog?” 

“Amy’s allergic.” 

The immediacy of that statement is what struck him first. She was such a huge part of him, she was in everything that he did, every thought that ran through his head. And yes, he knew that she was gone. But she was so important, so present in his life for so long. She still was, even despite not physically being there. He didn’t even have to think about it. Long before he and Amy were actually together, he’d tossed the idea of owning a dog out the window. He didn’t want to have a dog because Amy was allergic, so if he had a dog, that meant Amy couldn’t be around if she wanted to be. And he always wanted her to be.

Second was his stupidity. He felt embarrassed at the statement, though he knew Walton wasn’t judging him. He knew it was still a recent event, that his life had just recently been permanently altered. He knew he wasn’t actually stupid, but that’s all he could feel. They were talking about getting a dog to help him cope with the loss of his wife, and here he is saying that he can’t get a dog because his wife is allergic. 

“It’s okay, Jake,” Walton said, leaning forward and placing a hand on his arm. “This is normal. I’ve worked with a lot of widows and widowers. I know how this must feel, like you’re alone and things are never going to feel normal for you again, but there are people all around you who are feeling the same things.” 

He pulled away and flipped through his notebook to a blank page and began writing. He tore the page out and handed it over to Jake. “I’m going to refer you to a group for people who have been through similar situations. I really think going could help you a great deal.” 

Great, Dead Wives Club. Yeah, that’s exactly what Jake needed, how did he know? What did this guy even know? He was wrong just seconds before. Things _weren’t_ ever going to be normal again. They couldn’t be. Amy _was_ his normal. Would he one day, perhaps, have a _new_ normal? Maybe. But his normal had ceased to exist the second she took her last breath. 

“I think you’ve done some really great work today, Jake. You’ve talked a lot and I’m really proud of that. I think you should be, too. There is one thing I’d like you to try tonight, though.” 

Jake looked at him expectantly. He was annoyed, sure. _Great work_. He didn’t feel like he’d done great work. He didn’t feel any better than he had when he got there. Stupid therapy. 

“I want you to try to talk to her.” 

Jake didn’t say anything, eyes trained on Cypresses, but he nodded his head. Little did Walton know, he never _stopped_ talking to her. 

He travelled home that night slowly. His car inched forward, never quite making it up to the speed limit. If he was being honest, it was intentional. He hated coming home, these days. He hated walking into the stillness, the quiet that he could never escape, no matter how loud he turned up the volume on Die Hard. 

The hardest part of the day, by far, came when he reached his bed. He’d showered slowly, choosing not to eat again. He hadn’t really had an appetite since April 13th. He got in bed, snuggled on her side because it made him feel just a little bit closer to her. His fingers wrapped around her wedding band, closing his eyes and picturing any variety of the times when he’d called her the most beautiful woman alive. Then he turned to the nightstand, his favorite picture of her staring back at him. 

He had tons of favorite pictures of her, but this was the one he loved the most. They had been curled up on the couch together watching a movie. It was some thriller, maybe Shutter Island. Jake had gotten up to refill his orange soda, leaving Amy bundled up in her blanket cocoon. He stopped on his way back to her, snickering quietly at the shocked look on her face. Whatever was happening in the movie caught her by surprise. He snapped a quick picture of that, the flash alerting her that he was doing so. So she turned to him, surprised look still in her eyes, but a mischievous smile across her lips. Her hair was tousled, Jake’s fault for absentmindedly playing with it while her head was on his chest throughout the movie. His favorite burgundy hoodie was draped around her shoulders. She looked sleepy, happy, shocked, and above all, adorable. At the very last second, she pointed at him. This was the image he always had of her. When he thought of the woman he loved so much, this was the woman he saw. She was always beautiful. She was always perfect. But this was a whole new level of perfection. A level of bliss that he knew he would never be able to achieve again. 

“Hey, Ames. It’s me. Again.” 

He still held her ring in his hand, staring at her picture and waiting like she might respond. 

“I went to therapy. I know, like, two years too late, right?” He laughed quietly. “But I still went. I know you’d be proud if you were here. It didn’t go great. I didn’t love it, but I think maybe I’ll go back. I think you’d like it if I went back.” He shrugged. 

“I love you so much, Ames. It’s really hard for me to think about. I went from having this whole life, from knowing exactly where things were heading for me, to being left here, in _our_ home, alone.” He was trying to compose himself. “I’m trying not to cry again. I know it’s hard for you when I cry.” He shook his head. 

“I guess I just don’t know who I am without you. I don’t know how to just move on with my life knowing that you will no longer be a part of it. It’s not even that. If you were still out there somewhere, living, smiling… Maybe I could live with that. But I can’t even go to work, knowing that I’ll never see you there again. I don’t know how to get through this because for the last few years, every time I’ve had to get through anything, you’ve been right there to hold my hand.” Despite his best efforts, the tears start falling. 

“Even just as friends, you were there to lighten every struggle I went through. I’m not sure if you even knew you were doing it. Just talking to you made everything better. And now… It feels like a piece of me is missing.” 

“Everyone is trying to be normal, but I see the way they all look at me, Ames. We’d make fun of them, if you were here.”

He waited a moment, trying to think of something else to say, but he was just feeling so sad. He couldn’t come up with anything, which made him feel even worse. 

“I love you, Amy. I hope you’re making whatever place you’re in even more beautiful.” 

He pulled the photograph to him and kissed it lightly, setting it back in its rightful place on the nightstand. 

“Goodnight.” 

And with that, he shut off the lamp, laying back into Amy’s pillow and closing his eyes. Sleep wouldn’t come for hours, he knew. It never came easily these days, so it was best to start trying early. 

A knock at the door interrupted him from staring at the ceiling, so he got up to answer it. 

When he answered the door, clad in sweatpants and an old NYPD t-shirt, he was shocked to find his entire squad. 

“Jakey!” Charles yelled as they pushed past him, entering without his permission.

“Family game night!” Rosa yelled. 

Everyone walked into the room, toting games, drinks, and food along with them. 

His entire squad, the only person missing being Amy. 

“I figured it’s been a while since we’ve had one of these,” Rosa explained. 

“Don’t worry, I brought twister,” Charles announced. 

Everyone walked further into the room, leaving Jake staring at the door that he had just shut with a small smile touching his lips. It was the first time he had genuinely felt a bit of happiness since everything had happened. 

“Peralta,” Holt said, keeping his attention as the rest of the group settled into the living room. “I know things are hard right now, but they will improve, I assure you. I meant what I said. No matter the hour, I will be here if you need anything. I assume this is true for the rest of the squad, as well.” 

Jake smiled genuinely at his captain. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Get in here so I can kick your ass at Apples to Apples, Peralta!” Gina shouted from the other room. 

He glanced at a picture of he and Amy in the hallway as he walked over to joing them. 

Some things would never be the same. 

He walked into the room, looking among his friends. Holt settled in next to Terry, where they were discussing something Terry’s daughters did at bedtime. Hitchcock and Scully were shoveling deviled eggs into their mouths, something which made Charles grimace and resolve to snatching the plate of deviled eggs and moving them to a different corner of the room. Rosa and Gina were leaning into each other, joking about one of the other members of the squad, he was sure. 

But some things would never change.

**Author's Note:**

> We love a game night. And I hope the fluff, many canon references, and game night ending will help you to forgive me for what I just did. 
> 
> Love you all so much!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always much appreciated.


End file.
